Retribution
by Rehaniah
Summary: "They had thrown the world into chaos and she had as much blood on her hands as he did now." – Bane/OC - Disturbing themes - Rated M - All recognisable characters belong to DC Comics. Update 26/08/12 - 2 new chapters added.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Ok, so this is kind of the epilogue to my other fic, 'Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea' with the same character, Eva, from that fic. This fic can be read on its own but if you want some background info, read Devil and the Deep Blue Sea first.**

**Update 26/08/12 – have added two follow-up chapters just because the story wouldn't leave me alone!**

**Hope you enjoy!**

Retribution

They had thrown the world into chaos. After Gotham had fallen, laid to waste by the nuclear bomb, it had been one city after another; due punishment following due punishment to those that were corrupt, those that were guilty. She doesn't see the faces of them anymore, the people they kill, she only hears the screams, and even they can be drowned out by just one word from his mouth.

He managed to gain followers wherever he went, whether it was through fear or some misplaced sense of admiration or awe she could never figure out, but it meant that he was now infamous. He was the most wanted terrorist in the entire world, was number on every governments most-dangerous list; those governments that hadn't been destroyed at any rate. Everyone knew his name; it was whispered with fear, shouted with rage, saluted with reverence…

She had as much blood on her hands as he did now, because she had done what he'd asked, everything he'd asked. She'd brought stock-markets to their knees, had crippled the economics of huge cities, had sent navigation systems to waste, led army aircraft straight into the buildings that they had been sent to save and had caused security systems, one after the other, to crumble to nought. She had left mankind defenceless before him, thousands upon thousands of people left open and vulnerable to face their retribution as he saw fit. And why? Because she was more scared of him than she was of the damnation she was sure to face in the next life, when death finally came to claim her.

She was sitting at the window of an expensive suite; 'a pleasant place to rest' bestowed upon them by one of Bane's 'followers' while they were in-between operations. It was one of the cities that had taken to heart the calamities that had befallen its brethren and as such had made a concerted effort to treat everyone _fairly_. The rich worked or were got rid of, the poor were not stepped on in order for others to gain prominence. Equality ruled under the empire of anarchy…

It all sounded good but it wasn't. It would all crumble in on itself sooner or later. That was what happened when people were forced into roles they were not designed for; eventually they would break free and strike back with a vengeance and it would be the backlash that crippled yet another city.

She wondered if Bane would stop his 'mission' if there was total anarchy in every city in the world and people worshipped him as a god… Probably not. She didn't believe he knew how to stop, not now. His mind was too far gone, if it had ever wholly been there before.

Suddenly she hears the door from the adjoining bathroom open, the one that connected her room to his. He steps through, nothing but a white towel clad around his hips.

Her posture stiffens as her breath catches and her heart stutters... She is scared of him all the time but the terror is much more pronounced when he comes to her like this, looking like a man as opposed to the armour-clad monster. She knows the reason behind this increase in fear; it is because of what his body symbolises, it is that part of her that he hasn't taken… yet.

She is wearing nothing but a white nightgown and she dearly wishes now that she had worn more, the mid-summer night lulling her into carelessness. She wraps her arms round herself, the night not feeling so warm anymore. She can't help but turn her gaze away from him, even though she knows he does not like it when she doesn't meet his eyes.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him drop the towel. She doesn't cringe or shy away; she has seen him naked before. He has no reservations about his body and he has kept her with him long enough now that she knows every inch of him even with her eyes closed. It is not a good knowledge. She hugs herself tighter as she realises that this was now the time, the inevitable conclusion to this nightmare that she has been living in for so long…

What drew the fear round her wasn't anything to do with innocence; she had lost that to him long ago. It was the fact, the absolute fact that she did not want him inside her body. He was in her mind, had made his home there, but the thought of feeling him, his whole size, physically inside her body brought on waves of absolute terror.

He walked towards her until she was completely in his shadow, the weak glow from the bathroom lamp and the street lights shining outside the window giving the only light inside the room. She forced herself to look up at him. His face looked even more sinister in such gloom, his eyes glinting like daggers as they pierced her where she sat.

He spoke, his voice sharp and clear and cold,

"I want you. I have waited long enough." And that is it; there is no lead-up, no warning, as in the back of her mind, she had known there wouldn't be. She knows what type of man he is. He will take what he wants, when he wants, and nothing less. She is no different; there was no escaping him.

She swallows at the sudden dryness of her throat but doesn't move. She can't move. Though she wants to beg, though she wants more than anything to plead with him not to do this, she doesn't, because she knows that if she does it will only make it worse.

So she doesn't resist as he pulls her up from the window seat and then draws the nightgown up and over her head. She watches as the material falls to the floor, lifeless and empty. He places his hands on her, his fingers practically encompassing her entire waist, and pushes her inexorably over to the bed.

She can feel the tightness in her chest and lungs as fear sets its claws deep into her body but she has been with him long enough to be able to function despite these sensations; she keeps breathing.

"Look at me," he commands and though that is the last thing she wants to do, she obeys instinctively and her eyes are joined to irises of ice and cruelty.

She lies down, guided by his hands, and the mattress is soft against her back; a stark contrast to the unforgiving flesh that looms above her, hard and immensely heavy. He holds himself above her but only barely; every time she takes a breath her chest brushes up against his.

He still wears the mask; the black tubes leering down at her. He cannot ever take it off; she knows this and is thankful for it. She is thankful because it means that she will never feel his mouth on hers. Her body can only be caressed by his hands and his words, never his lips. In the life that she is forced to lead she has to be grateful for small mercies… How alien it is to use that word, _mercy_, with regard to him…

He runs his hands over her body; over her neck, over the jumping pulse in her throat. He glides one hand over each breast, massaging them, using his finger and thumb to pull and twist until her nipples are raised and raw. Only then does he move on to trace down, over and along each one of her ribs. Her body does not have the curves it once had. Life with him does not lend itself to healthy meals and full stomachs. Most of the time she lives on coffee and energy bars; the only things she can force down and that keep her alert. He splays his fingers so that each one nestles between a single rib. His breathing fills the air, the sound inhuman.

His hands trail away from her ribs and down, down… She can feel her thigh muscles unconsciously attempting to clench together, trying to protect her from him. She forces them to go slack. She feels his fingers dancing around her most private area and now his eyes lift from observing her body to watch her expression. Very slowly he circles the outer edge of her opening before gradually sliding one finger inside her. Her body clenches again and he actually stops as she relaxes her muscles; she knows that if she doesn't remain relaxed, this experience is going to be far, far worse.

As her body once again becomes pliant he resumes his endeavour. She desperately wants to think of something else, anything else other than what is actually happening but she cannot. He is here with her and her attention has always been on him, and now his attention was on her… she is trapped in the cycle. She can feel him fully inside her now and he is adding another finger, stretching her flesh.

Her breathing becomes heavier as a chant begins to run inside her head; _it is only pain, it will pass, it will end…_

She feels her flesh resisting him again, the discomfort turning to hurt and her eyes scrunch closed for a moment,

"Open your eyes, Eva," he commands. She does so and keeps them open as he continues to fill her. He is torturously slow as he draws his fingers in and out of her, mollifying her body despite the unfamiliar intrusion. He brushes his thumb over the nub that is higher up and she feels the tingling of her nerves. Her breathing becomes more laboured and erratic as he forces her body to endure these sensations.

Even though it is a purely physical reaction she still feels shame when she realises that she is getting wet, but there is a small rational part of her that is grateful for the impure reaction… Maybe it won't hurt quite so badly if she is prepared…

Suddenly he seems to change. No longer leisurely taking his time his hands reach out to wrap round her legs and push them wide, and wider still, as he settles further in between them, bringing his lower body flush against hers. She feels the brush of something much larger than his fingers at her vulnerable opening.

She braces her mind for what's about to come but he hesitates for a moment, his body going still, bringing her focus back to him. His eyes pierce her and he releases one leg to lay his palm flat against her stomach,

"This," he says, his voice deep and shadowed, his eyes pinning her own, holding her captive, "is mine. Your life, but my body." And then he is deep inside her and despite her intentions her body clenches beyond all reason, making the intrusion inside her all the more unbearable. By sheer force of will she manages to contain the scream that bubbles up inside her throat and blinks away the tears that fill her eyes. She hears a sibilant hissing coming from within the mask, the noise almost sounding like he is the one in pain. She brings her attention round to focus on his eyes. They are waiting for her and she sees in them that he is not experiencing pain. They are bright and fierce and deadly, the way he looks before the killing blow.

He withdraws from her and she can suck some air into her lungs again but then he returns, plunging inside her, scouring her insides with every vein, every ridge of searing, hardened flesh.

And she wonders if this is her punishment. For the lives that were laid out to slaughter by her hand; she wonders if this is her retribution…

He continues to drive in and out of her, his hands forcing her body down to meet his own, seeming to embed himself deeper inside her with each agonising, plunging stroke.

And she wants it to end and she wants it to stop but there is no way out, she cannot move, she cannot escape. And so she buries her head in the place between his shoulder and his neck and breathes. She breathes in his scent and it is metal and sweat and power. She raises her hands to scrape over his back and she feels the scar, the massive scar that tracks his spine. And her mind is lost in pain; his pain, her pain, it all gathers together and congeals and writhes and boils. And they become the same; Pain; Bane; Pain; Bane…

Without warning he pushes his hands underneath her and she is lifted up so that she is now sitting in his lap, the different position revealing a new way to stretch her raw inner muscles. He holds her waist as he drives upward and into her body, each thrust ripping her open anew. She can hear the sounds that they are making; hideous, animalistic grunts of breath rasping into straining lungs.

She wonders just how long her body can hold out when he suddenly grabs hold of her hair and forces her forehead to his own so that she is now also breathing through his mask. And despite what is happening this is the most horrible sensation yet; she is breathing the same air that he breathes and there is metal at the back of her throat and blood. And she can taste… something. Something that is coming from him, coming from the mask, and it is making her vision sharper, sending lightning along her synapses. She feels her heart rate speed up and it's making her shake with something powerful, something alien, and she's afraid but he doesn't allow her to draw away. Instead he holds her tighter to him, crushing her mouth against the wires and the metal so that she has no choice but to keep drawing the poison into herself. And she realises her mistake when she thought that she was blessed by him being unable to kiss her. This is so much worse, so much more intimate, because now she is breathing in his life's air, the very essence of his being, and it is burning itself inside her body, clinging to her own cells and tainting her, changing her. And then she feels the brush of his tongue through the grating and it is moving over her lips and she is tasting him, feeling him, becoming _him_-

She hadn't even noticed that he had been manipulating the exposed bundle of nerves at her apex but suddenly he pushes down on them and she shrieks as her body explodes in fire and tears flow unheeded from her eyes. She hears his own primal roar of triumph as he crushes her to him…

Her body comes down from its high and her head falls limply to rest on his broad shoulder. She breathes onto his skin, his scent flowing in and out of her with each gasp of air. She can feel his sweat on her own moistened brow.

She winces as he pulls himself out of her, but buried as she is in the crook of his neck, he doesn't witness it.

He manoeuvres them so that he lies back on the mattress and then draws her body over his so that her head rests on his chest. The position isn't comfortable; the solid muscle beneath her cheek is hard and unyielding and far too warm on her already warm skin. She doesn't move though, obediently remaining where he has placed her. She listens to the combined sound of their heavy breathing and the strong beat of his heart thumping within his ribcage...

When she shifts her lower body slightly she has to hold in the gasp of pain. She feels his hand come up to rest on her head and she stills, knowing that he has noticed her discomfort. He strokes down her neck and along the line of her spine before bringing his hand back to rest on her head. His breathing has evened out now, his heartbeat steady and she relaxes back against him when she realises he doesn't intend to say anything to her.

She knows that her mind wants to analyse the situation but she refuses it, seemingly the only power she has left now, because she doesn't want to think, doesn't want to relive what has just happened. Instead she makes a choice… and chooses to take comfort from the knowledge that she was now truly his. It meant that she had nothing left to lose… and in a world where everything could be taken from you in the blink of an eye, surely that was some kind of freedom… wasn't it?


	2. Chapter 2

Retribution Part 2

He is not there when she wakes. She should feel relieved… but she doesn't. In truth she doesn't feel anything as her mind begins to replay the events of last night; the feel of his body above her, around her, inside her…

But the feelings don't come; the revulsion, the fear, the guilt… She feels nothing… She is numb.

She forces herself to get up from the bed. Her body feels like it belongs to someone else, someone else who is looking out through her eyes. She knows this is foolishness. She knows that nothing has changed, not really. Her body moves when she commands it to, her muscles responding to stimuli from her brain, but her mind… Her mind feels so far away… so far away from this mortal prison…

She makes her way over to the door on the other side of the room; _the door that he came through last night…_

The bathroom is empty and she hears no sounds from behind the door that leads to his room. She turns the taps to fill the tub and grabs a fluffy white towel from the rail, placing it within easy reach on the side of the bath.

She slides into the water and it is only a small part of her mind that registers the burning on her skin. The heat helps soothe the soreness in her lower region but does nothing for the cold that has settled deep within her heart.

She lies there in silence. Behind her eyes she sees images of death and destruction; an unstoppable newsreel within her mind of people screaming, praying, burning, dying… and then the images merge with images from last night; she feels his hands on her body, his breath in her throat, his heat flowing into her as people scream, pray, burn, die…

She realises that she has sunk lower in the tub. Her whole body is now submerged; the only part left above the water being the upper half of her face.

She blinks as the thought weaves itself insidiously into her consciousness. She wonders if it's possible, if it would work… You'd pass out from the lack of oxygen unless you choked… in which case water would get into the lungs… Could the mind really be stronger than the body?

She sinks down by another millimetre but just before she is completely immersed her eyes subconsciously flicker over to the door of his room. _He is there_. His massive frame is silhouetted in the doorway, almost completely filling the gap. The light from the window of his room bleeds around him, making it look almost as if he stands within a halo; her mind is too far gone to appreciate the irony. He is watching her steadily.

She doesn't know how long they remain in that silent impasse, the pervasive numbness enabling her for once to hold eye contact with him, watching him as he is watching her.

He suddenly takes a step into the room, his long stride carrying him effortlessly towards her and now some of the numbness begins to leak away, slowly being replaced by a feeling that has been her faithful attendant over the past months; fear.

She keeps her eyes on him as he draws near, looking down at her from his great height. Subconsciously her arms reach out to cover her chest and the space between her legs, though she understands that her body holds no mystery to him now.

He crouches down next to the bath. She raises her head higher, moving her body so that the tips of her shoulders now reside above the waterline. He is wearing black cargo pants with his waist belt and braces but no shirt. He rests an arm on the bath edge and uses the other to cup a handful of water. He slowly pours it over the exposed skin of her shoulder. The water is still warm but she shivers.

"My beauty," he says lowly, watching the droplets as they slide over her skin before rejoining their source. "What are you doing?" His eyes rise to hers, clear and calculating; he knows exactly what she had been thinking of.

She can no longer hold his gaze and shifts her body, bringing her knees up towards her and wrapping her arms round them - a childish but primal form of protection against a perceived threat, one that she knows will do absolutely nothing to protect her.

She turns her head back towards him. He is still watching her, waiting for an answer. She knows that she could plead ignorance, tell him that she was doing nothing more than having a bath… but he does not appreciate lying, and they both know what she had been thinking. Behind the contrived curiosity, his eyes burn.

"Please don't hurt them," she whispers.

"Hurt who, my child?" And he asks it so civilly, as if he wasn't the very one who, all those months ago, told her that if she were to refuse her allegiance to him then he would wring every last drop of pain from her family, her friends, everyone who'd ever so much as smiled at her…

"I wasn't- I didn't-" And she realizes with daunting clarity just how foolish she was, how selfish. If he hurts them now, any of them… it will be her fault…

But she cannot ask him for mercy. He knows nothing of it, much less how to show it to anybody else. But perhaps she could explain the reason to him, the reason why such a notion came to her in the first place…

"I don't want to lose my soul to you." Her words are quiet but clear, their inherent truth cutting through the oppressive silence.

He blinks, she has caught him by surprise, but then the skin around his eyes crinkles slightly and she can tell he is smiling. He is _amused_… amused by the thought that has been haunting her since he took her away from everything she had ever known. Amused at the terrible notion that has buried itself so deep within the darkness of her heart that it feels like she chokes on it with each breath she takes,

"You won't," he says, and his voice is so assured as his eyes leave hers to wander unconcernedly over her body. "You can't. I cannot take your soul from you even if I desired to." A pause as his gaze continues to drink her in. "That is what draws me to you," he finishes softly. He reaches out to run his fingers over her shoulder, their touch now warmer than the water, but his next words chill her to the bone, "_That is your sin_." And he is staring into her eyes again, and there is no hint of mocking or amusement in his gaze now as his words sink like a stone inside her.

"My sin?" she repeats, disbelief and dismay warring within the whispered words.

"Of course," he answers, as though it were a perfectly reasonable thing to say. "Your soul is your sin. Despite everything I have made you do, and everything I have done to you, your soul is not tainted, not corrupted. You have refused to surrender yourself to the darkness." And there is an inflection there, something beneath the words; y_ou have refused to surrender yourself to the darkness_… Unbidden, an image of Talia floats through her mind… But he is speaking again, his words slow and deliberate and she knows that he truly _believes_ what he is saying, "You willingly sacrifice yourself every day in order to save your family, your friends, even though they have long forgotten about you by now. You have seen the worst of humanity yet you still believe in redemption. Even me… I am certain that if I asked you, you would say that _even I_ was capable of redemption. You have refused to harden your heart, even though it would be the easier path for you. Instead you grieve for each life that we take. Your soul is crushed by the weight of your guilt but to do anything else but endure it is unthinkable to you. You still believe in love, you still believe in justice and righteousness and you yearn for them even as you tell yourself that you will never be worthy of them, not now." He leans closer to her and she cannot look away, she can hardly even breathe. His eyes are so intense as he continues speaking, his mechanical voice resounding in her ears, "I have never met anyone like you. I did not even think that one like you could exist in this world."

And all she can do is stare at him in bewilderment while her mind scrabbles to take in the absurdity of his words. She weakly shakes her head, she cannot believe what he is saying; _this is why he took her?_ This is why he threatened her family and her friends in order to ensure her unconditional allegiance to him?

"You're wrong," she says desperately, pleadingly, but his eyes instantly harden; he does not believe her. She sees him about to speak, about to refute her, but she hurries on before he can, "No, listen to me," she begs, "I'm not like that. You are making me out to be some kind of saint and I'm not. I'm-I'm just a girl." She has to make him see that what he's saying isn't true. He is talking about her like she is something far greater than she could ever be. But there is no way that she is like that. She is just a girl who was told that her family and friends would suffer if she didn't help this man. She made the choice between her own life or the life of her family and friends, and she chose to give her own life in place of them. There was nothing remotely special about her, billions of people would have done the same; doesn't he know that?!

But she can tell that whatever open channel they had is now closed; his expression has become shuttered, his tone almost dismissive as he next speaks,

"It does not matter if you believe me or not. You are here and you are mine; that is all that matters." He leans away from her and his words clearly indicate that there is no more to be said. She reels in shock from this glimpse into his psyche and she does not know what scares her more; the notion that he is truly insane, or the notion that he isn't.

There is no numbness left within her now. She feels everything, every whisper of fear in her blood, every one of the cells making up the body that is hers but that he has claimed as his. She can feel the heat that radiates off him and the warm breath that falls from his mask to dance across her skin. She draws her arms closer round herself. His words disturb her so much; not only for their fallacy but because he was so earnest when speaking them. It was like he really believed that there was no goodness in the world-

"You're shivering," he says, breaking into her thoughts. She realises that she is.

"Here," and without warning he effortlessly picks her up from the water and places her on her feet on the tiled floor. She doesn't have time to protest before he has taken the towel and started drying her, dragging the soft material over her skin before using it to soak up the excess moisture from her hair. His touch is gentle and it unsettles her heart even more. He finishes but she is still shivering - from something far worse than cold. He tosses the towel aside and takes her hand, his large fingers wrapping themselves securely round her own.

He leads her back into her own room and she has no choice but to follow. When he speaks, his voice is indulgent… the words practically inevitable,

"Come, I will make you warm again."

**A/N: The bit where it references Bane threatening her family and friends isn't from my other fic (Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea), it relates to a drabble that's sitting on my harddrive where Eva is told what their actual mission is – i.e. killing a whole bunch of people - and it is then that Bane ups his threat. I may post the drabble if I can get it up to a standard where I'm happy with it – am very self-critical! – because it does explain in a bit more detail the situation and the dynamic between the two characters.**

**Also, I realise that the character of Eva is very pure and innocent etc and this is because I find innocence to be a very seductive notion and as such it comes out both in my art and my writing. I particularly find the idea of goodness within a dark world to be intriguing; whether or not someone would be still able to be essentially good despite enduring such horrors… Either way I do apologise if you feel she is a Mary-Sue or whatever but I write purely as a stress-relieving exercise so I'm not inclined to change her in order to avoid her being labelled. That being said I do hope some of you enjoyed it. Many thanks for those of you that have reviewed at one time or another – it's always so nice to hear that others have enjoyed my work because I have enjoyed reading so many other fics on this site so it's nice to feel I'm giving a little something back. Take care all & have a great day!**


	3. Chapter 3

Retribution Part 3

She tosses and turns on the bed. She is tired, so tired, but she receives no relief; sleep will not come to her. His words refuse to leave her mind. Words that have no place in relation to her tarred and blackened soul; love, justice, righteousness, redemption… Words he had used - worse; words he had _believed_.

She sits up and pinches the skin between her eyes, desperate to relieve the pressure in her head. The words remain, circling each other, taunting her. She lets out a deep sigh, dredged up from the depths of her despair. She knows what she has to do, but that doesn't mean she wants to do it…

She gets up from the bed.

He had taken her again that morning. Her body, having been clean from her bath, now carried his scent once more. He had lain beside her for a long time afterwards, not speaking, doing nothing more than stroking his hand over her skin. Eventually he had roused himself and had gotten up, telling her that he would be out for the rest of the day and that she should get some rest. He hadn't said where he was going, and she hadn't asked. She probably didn't want to know anyway.

She got up, ignoring the ache in her lower muscles; there was nothing to be done about that. In the back of her mind she recognised that he wasn't intentionally rough in their carnal interactions, but he was dominant and fierce in his possession of her. She wasn't sure if he could be any other way…

She made her way over to the bathroom door and went straight through. She listened at the door to his room but there was no sound. She went in. The room was empty, as expected. She couldn't determine whether she was relieved or disappointed. Once she set her mind to do something, she liked to get it over with, but then again this was _him_ that they were talking about… She sat down on the bed to wait...

The sound of the door closing jerks her awake and she is confused for a moment before her mind pieces together the fact that, despite previous expectations, she had evidently fallen asleep, on _his _bed of all places. She focuses on him as he observes her from just in front of the door,

"This is a pleasant surprise," he says, and she believes that the words are truthful but she pays them little mind. Complimentary or not, the words he uses mean little to her, she has always been far more concerned with what's behind them.

She brings herself to the edge of the bed and looks at him intently. It is dusk outside now and the light in the room is only just enough to see by.

"I wanted to talk to you about what you said this morning," she says, with only the barest hint of trepidation. His eyes sparkle in dim light,

"Oh?" he replies, cocking his head to the side in what she believes is feigned interest. The thought comes to her that maybe broaching such a subject just as soon as he walked through the door wasn't the best of plans. She doesn't know what he's been doing all day; for all she knows something may have happened that would put him in a more volatile mood than usual. As she considers this he shrugs off his leather jacket and then moves to sit beside her on the bed, close but not touching. He is watching her keenly, as he so often does.

Her eyes glance over his features, so very familiar to her now, as she contemplates the best course of action. She definitely has to speak to him, but…

"Maybe now isn't the best time," she says unsurely, the cowardly part of her hoping that he agrees. He doesn't,

"On the contrary, you have something to say to me," he spreads his hands out in an open gesture, "So speak. I am always willing to listen to you, my child," he finishes. She frowns slightly at the latter phrase. He has said before that she has permission to speak freely when it is just the two of them but he's never phrased it in that way before. Even so, the words do no comfort her.

"I think-" She pauses and swallows, realising that she should have put more thought into how she was actually going to verbalize her approach. It was instinctive for her to be careful about what she said to him, a learned habit intended for self-preservation. She looks back to him. He really is sitting rather close to her and she takes note of the fact that the need to cringe away - once such a strong feeling - has diminished slightly. She wonders if it is because he has already taken what she feared, or maybe it is simply her familiarity with him, but either way, it makes speaking to him a little easier… but only a little.

"Your words this morning, about me, they are," she takes a deep breath, "_wrong_." She puts emphasis on the word in an attempt to make it clear to him, to make him understand. "I think- I feel that you need to know, you need to understand that they're- that your perception of me is… It's just… _wrong_," she finishes somewhat helplessly, because she can think of no other term to describe it.

He watches her for several moments. She cannot discern anything from his expression, not least because it is getting rather gloomy inside the room. Finally he speaks,

"You are concerned for me because you feel I am labouring under a misapprehension. Even though I am your captor and your tormentor you still believe that I deserve to be in full possession of the truth." He is speaking slowly, deliberately, and she begins to get a sinking feeling that all she's done in coming here is somehow solidify his interpretation of her. She tries again, and this time her voice becomes more desperate, more impassioned. The need burns inside her to make him grasp the truth,

"You have to listen to me. You have to understand. I am not _good_; no more so than the next person, but there are good people in this world. If you gave them a chance, rather than writing them off as corrupt and seeking to destroy them, you would see the goodness in people." She has leant towards him, trying to make out his eyes, to see if her words are having any effect at all. She still cannot read him,

"You think that you are the same as everyone else?" His voice belies curiosity but there is something shadowed beneath the words. She knows that she is on dangerous ground; if she can, in fact, make him see that she is nothing more extraordinary than the next person, he could very well kill her. But the risk is worth it and so much more if it means that she can get him to see the flaw in his vision of humanity. If she can get him to see that people are good, essentially, then maybe he will stop his 'mission' against the world…

He abruptly rises and strides over to the cabinet beside the bed. Opening the top draw he takes out a handgun, its polished form glinting in the fading light. She contains her gasp of surprise but tendrils of fear grasp at her. She watches him warily. She has always hated guns and had never dreamed of touching one even though she had seen the way Bane handed them out like candy to those that followed him. They were always liberally scattered round their various bases of operations as well but she wouldn't ever willingly touch such a hideous device. In the neighbourhood she grew up in, gun crime was high. She'd witnessed a shopkeeper be shot point blank in front of her during an armed robbery. She'd seen the utter devastation that even just one gun could bring. There was no way she could ever bring herself to touch something meant only for pain and death.

He brings the weapon back round to where she is sitting. She is watching him with wide eyes and the thought flashes through her mind that maybe he has already decided to accept what she is saying and he intends to end her life here and now. He sits next to her again and gripping it by the barrel he holds the gun out to her. She instinctively leans away, as though he is holding a burning torch and expecting her to touch the flame.

"Take it," he says.

"What?" she replies, her words ringing with disbelief and confusion. To say she is shocked at the turn of events is an understatement. It feels like he has suddenly pulled the ground out from under her and she is hopelessly falling, but where she will end up she has no clue,

"Take it," he repeats slowly, holding it out further towards her. "If you are _not good_ as you say then you will be able to shoot the man who kidnapped and raped you. You will be able to kill the one who has murdered millions of innocent lives, the killer of millions of _good people_. Take it."

She makes no move to take it instead pressing herself against the headboard. Her heart is pounding in her throat as everything seems to be slipping away from her. She shakes her head. His words continue, almost taunting in their deliberateness,

"You would be saving millions of people, little one. You would be able to go home, back to your family, back to your friends, back to your life. Back to that little runt of a boy who was so desperately in love with you." Her panicked eyes tear away from the gun with the shock of his words… He was speaking about Nathan. Nathan, whom she hadn't thought of in so long… Sweet, innocent Nathan who tried so hard to get close to her, who always tried so hard to make her smile… She had no idea that Bane even knew of him…

He realises that he has hit a mark. He leans forward, bringing himself and the gun ever closer to her. Him, she can cope with, the gun she cannot. Tears leak from her eyes and she tries to blink them away. His voice croons to her,

"If you kill me, they will all be free from danger. You would rid the world of its destroyer." He is so close to her now. He is whispering the words directly into her ear as his hand is trying to wrap her fingers round the textured handle. She is resisting with all her might, she doesn't want that horrible _thing_ anywhere near her.

"Stop-_stop_," she begs, brokenly, but he doesn't let up. His fingers are moving hers into place round the gun even though she is trembling so badly. The metal is cold and repulsive in her hand, but he is holding her fingers round it, moving her forefinger towards the trigger,

"Think of everything I've done to you, child. I will keep doing it again and again unless you stop it. All you have to do is be strong for a moment. Be strong for one moment against a monster and then you will be free-"

"Stop, _stop it_!" He has moved the gun so that it now points directly at his heart. Tears stream from her eyes. His voice continues at her ear, so dark and soft now,

"_Anyone else _would do it, child. You said yourself you are no different. You have every right to do _this_."

"No, No- _NO_!" she screams and adrenaline surges within her as she grabs hold of the gun with both hands, tearing it away from his chest and throwing the awful thing away from them across the room. She had been expecting it to go off the whole time that he was holding it and now that it hadn't, now that the god-awful thing was away from her, the dam broke...

She covers her face with her hands and cries like she has never cried before. She cries like she did when her mother left when she was just six years old, taking her sister with her. She cried like her whole world was crumbling around her, even though it had actually fallen long ago, ripped apart by the man who was now pulling her hands away from her face, and murmuring such soothing words into her ear. He draws her onto his lap, smoothing the hair away from her hot face,

"Do you see?" he asks, wiping the tears from her eyes, "Do you see now what you are?"

She is shaking her head, she cannot seem to stop. He is wrong, she is wrong, everything is so _wrong_,

"You're wrong. You're wrong. You're wrong," She is whispering into the dark, whispering the same mantra that is going round inside her head. She knows he is listening but he is not hearing her. She blinks to clear some of the tears from her vision and forces her gaze to his, taking several choppy breaths before speaking,

"It doesn't mean anything – me not being able to kill you, it doesn't mean anything. All it means is that I'm a coward and that I'm scared." She chokes on the tears that continue clogging her throat but perseveres, "It doesn't mean that I'm anything special. I'm _not_ good… _How can I be_?" And she is asking him, imploring him to explain his belief to her when she has allowed so many people to die, so many lives to be taken by him… and now she has given away the one chance to stop the slaughter. How can anything in her ever be classed as good?

But all he does is stroke her tears away as they roll down her cheeks one after the other. She feels so lost, and helpless, and alone and the only thing she has is this man… This man who is also lost but not helpless, not alone, not as long as he has her…

"Do not think on this anymore, my child," he says and she thinks it is the most gentle she has ever heard his voice but she continues shaking her head and looks away from him. He raises her face back to him, his warm hands cupping her cheeks. His eyes are bright and burning,

"I do not want you to think on this anymore." She hears the unmistakable command in his words and she realizes with heart-breaking clarity that she cannot save him – she cannot even save herself, how was she supposed to save him from his delusions?

"Come now," he says and moves them both so that they now lie on the bed. His arms wrap around her, holding her tightly.

The tears continue to fall, spilling over each eyelid and sliding down onto the hard chest that she now rests on. Gradually they slow. His eyes remain on her face as he strokes his hand down her hair in a soothing motion, like a parent comforting a child. Even as she doesn't want to, she accepts the comfort… and accepts the burden that he has placed on her; _the world is going to pay for her weakness_…

They lie there together as the last of the light fades from the room.

**A/N: Once again, I hope it wasn't too awful. Many thanks for reading. Have a good day everyone!**


End file.
